She'd had her doubts about appearing on this particular show because of the host's penchant for drama, but free publicity was free publicity, and she couldn't afford to pay for the exposure this interview would bring. So long as she stayed calm, cool, and collected, nothing could go wrong. Right?
"And now our special guest will give us all the insight we need to date in the twenty-first century," the host said, smiling into the camera. "Please welcome professional matchmaker and author of the bestselling Good Girl's Guide to Dating, Marsali Jones!"
Marsali's pulse raced as she crossed the shiny floor, praying all the while she didn't slip in the heels and go tumbling down like a drunken spring-breaker. She shook hands with the host she'd met backstage before the show had begun taping and waved to the audience before taking her appointed seat.
"Wow. Marsali, I have to say, when they said I'd be interviewing a matchmaker, I expected someone much older and, well, dowdy, if you want the truth. I didn't expect our matchmaker to be so beautiful, did you, audience?"
Marsali smiled and murmured a soft word of thanks, uncomfortable with the catcalls and whistles from the audience.
"I've been looking forward to this segment all morning, Marsali. I can't wait to hear your recommendations for dating. I'm recently single, as I told you backstage, and I'm ready to jump into things again."
"Thank you, Gwen. I do have suggestions, and I certainly hope I can answer any questions you might have."
"So tell us—if we've been off the dating scene for a while, how do we start? Where do we start?"
"Both of those are easy. Start where you are. A trip to the grocery store, the gym, a walk in the park. So often we have our head down and earbuds in and we don't notice those around us, but there's a lot of potential out there if we pay attention."
"There are some cuties at my gym. Watch out, boys!" Gwen said, earning another audience laugh. "But where else? What about online dating?"
"Personally, I think we need to dial things back a notch. In our world of technology, romance has gotten lost in swipes and ghosting. If there's someone you're interested in, why not phone them and talk to them in person? Make it more personal by asking them for coffee or dinner. But keep the phones tucked away while you have a real conversation and sincerely invest in getting to know them."
"But what about our introverts out there? How do they strike up a conversation? Or is that where your matchmaking service comes into play?"
"Well, it certainly can come into play. Matchmaking is an age-old profession, and I'm thrilled to say that Marsali's Matches has a ninety-two-percent success rate."
"Oh, really?" Gwen said, giving the audience a wide smile. "For clarification, you're based here in Wilmington, North Carolina, but you are national?"
"Yes. I have many clients all over the US."
"Tell us how you got into the profession."
Marsali forced herself to inhale so her voice wouldn't reveal the nerves racking her. "Matchmaking is something I've always had a knack for. I fixed up friends in high school and college, and when I graduated with a business degree and looked at what I wanted to do, it just made sense to stick with something I love. I recently matched my best friend, Eliza."
"How wonderful. The Wilmington area is largely single, is it not?"
"Yes, Wilmington is about sixty percent single largely due to the colleges, but also because so many flock to the coast when they feel in need of a fresh start, whether it's after a breakup or being widowed or divorced."
"Who hires you? More men or women?"
"It's fairly even, actually. People today have busy lives and work long hours. If they aren't into bars and clubs, which skew to the younger set, they aren't sure where to go to meet people. I help with that and do a bit of investigating before they ever get to the first date."
"Investigating? That sounds interesting! Tell us more."
"Of course. I take my clients' safety seriously, and I run background checks on any potential date as well as my clients so there aren't any surprises, at least on paper. It helps to weed out those with criminal histories, domestic violence charges, or those wanting to date when they're already married."
The audience laughed and Gwen nodded repeatedly.
"Yes, we definitely need those weeded out, don't we, ladies and gentlemen? Mm-hmm." Gwen turned to look at Marsali once more. "Marsali, you wrote a book on dating for good girls. Tell us a bit about that."
"I'd love to. I wrote the book when I was actively dating and realized the men I was meeting were mainly looking for hookups and not interested in something more substantial. I was frustrated and began to establish a set of rules or guidelines to use to weed them out. That became the catalyst for the book and ultimately the rules used by Marsali's Matches."
"What kinds of rules are we talking about here?"
"Well, the gentleman always pays for the first date. Always. It may seem sexist, but I found myself on a date once thinking my date would pay or at least split the check, but he had other ideas and I wound up paying the tab."
"Oh-ho! I'd say he didn't get a second date."
"He did not. Though he did ask," Marsali said, smiling. "Another rule is that my clients meet at the location and no home addresses or numbers are exchanged until at least the third date because usually by then you have a better idea of whether or not there's any crazy in the mix that the background check didn't weed out."
Gwen laughed at the news. "What about all these people sending nudes? I take it that's a no-no, too?"
"Absolutely. If that's the kind of relationship you want, that's what you'll get. But if you're looking for something more, something that might potentially lead to the altar, you have to establish boundaries and see them through."
"I see. Well, I can understand that. I'm curious, though. You mentioned coming up with this when you were 'actively dating' and I think a matchmaker is only as good as good as her own perfect match. Am I right, audience? So, tell us, Marsali, who is yours?"
The cheers and catcalls erupted once more and Marsali felt her face begin to flush. "Um…"
"Now, now, Marsali. You have to give us the details. Your significant other has to be a gem. I'm guessing tall, dark, and handsome?"
The audience response became even louder, and Marsali felt her entire body break out in sweat. Not the glistening kind but the kind that comes when fear takes hold. "Um, yeah. M-my perfect match… is, yes, he's all of those things."
"Go on."
Her brain scrambled like the eggs she'd tried to down this morning and couldn't due to nerves. She needed to end this. Now. "H-How about we discuss more of the suggestions included in my book?" Surely now the host would take a hint and change the subject?
"Oh, no, girl. We want a name. Don't we?" Gwen said to the audience, waving at them to get their agreement. "There has to be someone special to you. Someone who immediately comes to mind when you think of your perfect match. So, who is the matchmaker's secret?"
Marsali wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Was she really not going to be taken seriously because she wasn't matched? "I really can't—"
"Of course you can! We have to know who this perfect specimen of manhood is."
"Tell us!" a voice called from the audience.
"Does he have a brother?" asked another.
"Our viewing audience wants to know the deets, girlfriend. Am I right? How many of you want to know?"
The crowd roared.
This was it. The time to come clean and confess her single status. Her heart raced in her chest, pounding against her ribs, her palms sweaty and slick, the jacket too hot. "I'm not… I-I mean I—"
"Marsali, how can we believe in love when you won't share? You've already said he's tall, dark, and handsome. I'm guessing quite successful, too. Someone special you think of as your perfect match?"
"Ollie," she said softly, and the microphone she wore picked up the breath of sound.
"Ollie? How sweet!" Gwen said, a sly grin forming on her f
ace.
No, no, no, no!
"Girl, you should be shouting his name from the rooftops, not whispering," Gwen said. "Marsali's sweet Ollie is short for Hollywood hottie Oliver Beck."
The audience gasped collectively and erupted in applause, shouts, and whistles.
"Take a look at this. Our little hometown girl and Oliver Beck are official," Gwen said, "as you can see from this picture of the happy couple taken when Oliver was in Wilmington not long ago. How cute are they?"
Marsali looked around until she spotted the image being shown to the audience. The picture was zoomed in and showed her staring up at her brother's best friend with adoring eyes that revealed far too much for comfort. "I— How did you— That was a private gathering." Her parents' anniversary party, in fact.
"Oooh! Girl, we all know when it comes to Hollywood stars, ain't nothing private. Especially when they look like him! So tell us, Marsali, what is it like being Oliver Beck's girlfriend?"
Marsali stumbled through the next minute of live television looking like a fool with all of her ums, ahs, and silence when Gwen's questions bombarded her.
Obviously they'd kept things on the down low, so were they now going to make things official? Was there a ring involved? Coming soon?
The very moment the all clear was given, Marsali ignored Gwen's request to talk privately and raced from the set to the ladies' room, gasping for breath when her phone began to ring. She ignored it but it kept ringing and ringing. She fumbled to silence it and groaned when she saw her brother's name appear above her mother's. Her father's. Her best friend, Eliza, who had boarded a cruise ship this morning with her husband. A multitude of unknowns that were rapidly leaving voicemail messages. "Sweet baby Jesus," she said prayerfully, knowing only a higher power could ever deliver her from the mess she'd just created. "What have I done?"
The Matchmaker’s Secret: Chapter 2
Oliver Beck watched the recorded interview end, all the while aware of his agent's impatient glare.
"You want to fill me in on anything? My phone is ringing off the hook with people wanting to know if Hollywood's hottest bachelor is off the market, and I'm looking like a fool because I don't know."
"I need to talk to Marsali."
"So it's true? I thought you were just friends? That she was some childhood hanger-on you haven't shaken loose yet."
Rikki leaned against the hotel's desk and crossed one ankle over the other. "You've been in Wilmington multiple times in the last year. You were filming, and again for her parents' anniversary party. Is that when you hooked up? Or was it before? Exactly how long have you been keeping this from me?"
Oliver found himself staring at his agent's ridiculous shoes, wondering how anyone could walk in six-inch heels, or better yet, why she'd wear them at all for a regular workday.
The sight made him appreciate Marsali's penchant for flip-flops and boat shoes whenever possible. "I need to talk to Marsali," he said again. He wasn't about to discuss his involvement with Marsali until he spoke with her and found out what was going on and why she hadn't immediately denied their dating status.
"Oliver, you are the most sought-after star right now, partly because you're good-looking and can actually act and partly because you're unattached. I have a major deal in the works, so if something has changed, I need to know so I can do damage control."
Damage control because he supposedly had a girlfriend? Seriously? Was his being single that important when it came to his career? "What deal?"
"I don't want to say just yet. But it's big. You don't want to do anything to screw this up, trust me."
His bodyguard shifted behind him and pulled out his cell to glance at the face. The man was former Special Forces and built like a tank and now provided personal protection whenever Rikki felt Oliver needed it.
Oliver wondered if, at times, Rikki used the service as part of his image building, but whenever he was in a large city like New York for events, he'd admit the man earned his pay by keeping the more rabid fans at bay.
"Sir, your assistant just sent your itinerary," Denz said. "Ninety minutes to takeoff. We'll have to move if we're going to make it."
Oliver nodded in response and focused on Rikki. "Just keep me posted."
"Oliver, they want you for the lead male role. The script is on its way, and negotiations are already in progress. This is your next big move."
"I understand. I'll take a look at the script when I can, but right now I have a flight to catch."
"Back to California. Right?"
Oliver didn't answer and grabbed his backpack from the floor of the posh hotel room as he stood.
"Oliver," Rikki said. "You are going back to LA. Right? Your schedule is booked solid before the premiere."
"Actually I've been thinking of taking some time off."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because of everything I just said?"
"I can do the premiere interviews remotely."
"From where?"
"Does it matter?"
"Actually, it does. Where are you going? Are you seeing that woman?"
"That woman has a name."
"I don't care if she's the queen of England. Are you seriously involved with her?"
"Rikki, I have to go. I'll be in touch."
"Oliver! Oliver, stop!"
Oliver moved out of the hotel suite faster than Rikki could run after him in those heels of hers, and he and the bodyguard were on the elevator behind the sliding doors by the time she caught up.
Rikki's curse rang in his ears as the doors closed, and he knew he'd have to do something to make up for his rude departure, but right now his focus was getting to Marsali as quickly as possible.
"Would you like me to accompany you to Wilmington?" Denz asked.
Oliver looked at the burly guard and shook his head. "No. I should be fine. I'll touch base with you when I'm back in LA."
Denz cleared his throat and shifted his weight on his size-fourteen feet.
"Want me to do some background on Marsali Jones?"
Oliver smiled and shook his head at the idea of Marsali having a secret dark side. "No. I know her well, Denz. There's a good explanation for this, and I want to hear it in person."
"You'll let me know if something changes?"
"Yeah."
Denz accompanied Oliver through the hotel and out to a cab. They made it to the airport in record time.
Despite the urge to charter a jet to get to Wilmington faster, Oliver flew commercial. He'd made a promise to himself that no matter how weird or lucrative things got with his acting career, he wouldn't let it go to his head. Nor would he find himself broke if his career ended as quickly as it had begun ten years ago.
A former business major, he kept control of his money, did a regular review of his assets and investments, and made sure the people who worked for him weren't stealing from him.
Oliver flew first-class to get on and off quickly and for the extra leg room and did his best to keep a low profile with a hat and sunglasses. Traveling light helped since he didn't have to linger at baggage claim.
Once Oliver boarded, Denz would go to his gate to head to LAX.
Thankfully the flight to Wilmington, North Carolina, was uneventful and nonstop. Oliver pretended to sleep during the flight with his hat pulled low over his face and earbuds in place. Once off the aircraft, he moved through the crowd at ILM as fast as he could in an effort to not be recognized.
He hitched his fully loaded backpack higher on his shoulder and ducked his head as he dodged an out-of-control toddler. Wearing dark sunglasses inside the building might be a bit much, but he hoped he appeared as a hungover guy just trying to get home after a trip.
Outside, he quickly hailed a taxi, but as it drove toward him, Oliver heard a woman shriek.
"It's him! Oh, my gawd, it's Oliver Beck! It's him! He's here!"
So close.
The small crowd moving into and out of the airport turn
ed in unison to stare where the woman pointed, and Oliver willed the taxi to pick up speed. People surged toward him right as the taxi stopped, and Oliver jumped inside and slammed the door, aware of the many cell phones pointed in his direction. "Go. Drive."
The taxi driver turned in the seat.
"You steal something? I ain't no getaway car."
"No. Please, just drive."
"Ah, man," the driver said, eyes widening. "You're that actor."
"Yeah, and I'll double your tip if you just get out of here."
"No worries, boss. I'm on it."
The crowd continued to record and a few young girls screamed as the taxi began to roll. Several of the braver ones banged on the taxi windows and proclaimed they loved him. One pressed her lips to the glass closest to him just as the taxi took off, and Oliver grimaced at the smear of lip gloss and grime on the window beside his head.
Finally they made it out from under the canopied area into the early-February sunshine. New York had been overcast and snowy, but Wilmington was a balmy fifty-six degrees. Cold due to the dampness of ocean and river, but warm with the sun.
"Where to, boss?"
Oliver quickly pulled the address up on his phone and relayed it to the driver.
"You here to see that girl? Does that mean it's true?"
He was already sick of hearing that question. Did everyone think his life was their business?
He grimaced at the question because he knew the answer. According to Rikki, privacy was the price to be paid and he had to deal with it. Ten years later, he was still trying to learn.
Oliver turned his face toward the dirty window and didn't respond to the driver's question.
That girl. Yeah, he was here to see Marsali. But this time was different. Thanks to her interview and what it had revealed.
The driver seemed to get that Oliver's lack of response was a response and stopped talking. They left the airport and moved through the city toward the south end of Wilmington and over the bridge to Carolina Cove.
"Uh, boss? You sure you want me dropping you there? Looks like a hornet's nest compared to what happened at the airport."
Cupid to the Rescue: A Tail-Wagging Valentine's Day Anthology Page 47
